As we bare our own crosses,
existence dances along the strung-out
nerves of unavoidable experience, overwrought
metal wires bite down with the word to the teeth. When
pulled as far as they can go, a temperate breeze ill timed, or a
perfectly fixed slap across the cheek, unexpected, will cause the fibres
of senses to screech the tunes of torment in our hearts. When it slows, it aches
down to the viscous core of bones, until the pressure softens just enough to bring a thaw.
Yet relief is ephemeral, as new tides form as echoes of the moon, never weary enough herself
to cease her merciless cycle. Not infinite, yet relentless, nonetheless. Stuck inside
this meat, we unwillingly carry on. Our 'selves' would never choose to dress in such
a way if we were warned, not fooled into the conviction that we are the executives
sat behind our own desks. We trap ourselves in knots as the scope of our second
guessing draws out our wounds. Ever refereeing between the right and left,
our hunches and reason, battling it out for the deepest epiphany, always
hoping that the other side wins. Every combat will result in casualties,
each a shard of glass that dies upon contact with the tongue.
Etching out a new memory, that fades along time,
liquifying like droplets of melted ice, but
never forgetting it once belonged to a
boundless ocean of love and
that it always will.
The biting point
will come upon the
moment where the answer
is illuminated and the tension
meets. Between wanting to transcend
the torture of being trapped inside a body,
rising like warm air, passing painfully through
each layer purified, or wanting to descend, bashing
its head on every tender step, into the potential for learning
through unmet pleasures of the flesh. There is no need to agonize.
The chosen path was made before we were. We journey along each channel,
and they both lead to the same hallowed destination.
Lucy Purrington’s work primarily explores the themes of mental health through her surreal self-portraits. Drawing on personal experience, she attempts to externalise and transform her own struggle with mental health into something tangible and relatable. These images aim to raise awareness, start conversations and bring mental health and wellbeing out of the shadows for all of us.
Leanne Webber is a mother with an eclectic career path, following a psychology degree. Her poetry is inspired by the esoteric and working with trauma in various roles. Leanne now works as a senior young people’s advocate and cartomancer. Leanne also writes moon energy forecasts and identifies as a solitary witch.
Previously published in Quail Bell Magazine
Quail Bell Press & Productions is a woman-owned creative studio and the parent of Quail Bell Magazine and the Badass Lady-Folk podcast.
Deniz Ataman is a Turkish-American poet, writer, editor, composer, and creative director. She directed this film and composed its music.
Mari Pack is a poet and editor originally from the outskirts of Washington, D.C. She wrote the words for this film.
Christine Sloan Stoddard is a writer and multidisciplinary artist, as well as the founder of Quail Bell Press & Productions, including Quail Bell Magazine. She photographed and edited this film.
Jessica Reidy is a writer, educator, artist, and activist who works her Romani (Gypsy) family trades. She stars in this film.
Uncovered logs from the distant past and the future beyond.